


In the Land of Envy

by AveMaria (Averia)



Series: The Crimson Sun [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Blood As Lube, Breathplay, Deepthroating, League of Assassins Dick Grayson, M/M, Minor Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Past Child Abuse, Punishment, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27894331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Averia/pseuds/AveMaria
Summary: He thought out of all of Richard’s distractions he could accept Slade Wilson when he first heard of the whispers. Striking a deal would be beneficial. The Terminator is a man he respects, a mercenary and assassin that has reached heights no one else unassociated with the League ever has. The Terminator is a man he can see himself in. And maybe that is the problem. Just as it was a problem when Richard read the Qur'an for The Tiger King of Kandahar.
Relationships: Ra's al Ghul/Dick Grayson
Series: The Crimson Sun [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042602
Comments: 7
Kudos: 77
Collections: Dick Grayson Fic Exchange 2020, Dick Grayson Rare Pair Challenge





	In the Land of Envy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withthekeyisking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/gifts).



> In the beginning, this was supposed to be a test chapter (to be never released) for the second DG Exchange prompt Q gave, but I’m still wrestling with the AU. So, I thought, why not put this one up as a gift anyway? Thankfully, Q said they want to read it. xD
> 
> Also:
> 
>   * This fic will very likely end up being an alternate future once I get to upload the actual AU.
>   * Ra’s calls Dick “child” because he is a creep (and a couple of hundred years old). Dick has been an adult for quite a few years.
>   * Warnings are in the Tags.
> 

> 
> \- Ave(Ma)ria

The brown furs lining Ra’s neck have turned crisp, light white sheen glittering on top. From the stony balcony, he observes his assassins-in-training with sharp green eyes. Soon the underground matches will decide who will be worthy to fill his ranks and who will be given to nature to nourish the ground the League feeds on to survive.

“Master.”

Ra’s does not deem the wispy voice important enough to turn. It is not the voice he expects to hear, not the voice that makes him smile.

“Shrike.”

A shuffle. Ra’s can all but smell the nervousness that the man kneeling behind him exudes. Shrike knows very well that his presence is utterly displeasing.

Hands still clasped behind his back he takes his sight off the array of assassins that have drawn their swords. The last rays of the setting sun glitter against their blades. 

The next time they will draw their steel, crimson will reflect upon the glorious.

Shrike is bowing in a kneel like the obedient follower he desires to be. His hand is pressed to the ground, his thumb near white from the strain. Despite knowing that the child has not returned with him Ra’s gaze roams past the kneeling man as if Richard might just appear in his sight anyway. An act Ra's is not proud of.

Richard would never hide. His place is in front of the others, nearest to him to earn the praise he bestows on the worthy or bear the brunt of his ire.

He never got the compassion out of the child, and over the years, it has become infuriatingly endearing the same way Talia’s love for the Detective has.

“Speak,” he orders, gaze still on the bowed head. Shrike is back too early. If Richard were with him, it would be a pleasant occurrence. As it is, it is not.

“Naji and I were interrupted. Before we could go for the killing blow, the two senators were shot by Deathstroke. We were in the line of fire, so Naji stayed back to engage.”

His world tints green at the unwanted words. It is a recent occurrence that Richard has been able to invoke such an ardent kind of rage in him.

“He ordered me to return. Said that you should know about the complication as soon as possible.”

Ra’s eyes the bowed head, the red lines crossing through yellow. He has always thought that Shrike’s attire is hideous. It has nothing of the understated colors the League uses. All it is, is a cheap imitation of a worthless hero suit. Boone is nothing like his teacher was. No, his late teacher would be appalled if he were to see what became of his pupil.

“Tell Richard to come to me as soon as he arrives,” he speaks, his voice at ease. “If he returns hurt. I will punish you myself.”

Ra’s walks past him, barely sees him bow even lower, head near touching the ground. What a useless show of submission.

“He’ll come to you,” Shrike speaks before the door falls closed, and Ra’s hears what is left unspoken. Richard will always come to him without fault and hesitation, even if he should search out the physicians first, and for years that has been true. Lately, though, Ra’s has found his grasp slipping, and he will not lose the child, will not lose his good omen that has far excided what he thought possible.

When Richard first arrived at Nanda Parbat, his lips were blue, his body as cold as the snowcapped-mountain peak. A nine-year-old boy that barely survived the wilderness. 

The guards of Nanda Parbat found him along the golden walls, and Talia saw him for what he was. A child of blue eyes and black hair and bronze skin. A child that should not have survived the mountain the way it did. A survivor and a sign that an heir would be born, that Talia’s love for the Detective would be of greater purpose.

Back then, Ra’s never thought Richard would survive another winter. Ten should have been too old to stay alive among Assassins. Especially as sickly as he had been. But he let Talia try, did not tell her he had seen through her excuse of an auspicious sign.

“Master.”

The voice is a pleasant caress to his ears, and he cannot help but smile as Richard falls into step beside him. They cross the threshold to his chambers as one. 

_Master_ Richard learned to call him, feverish and on the brink of death, far sooner than any of his same-aged peers, and _Master_ it has been ever since.

Not bothering to sit in the lavish seating his servants prepared, he turns to find Richard already kneeling, his gaze respectfully lowered and no tension in his body. His trust invokes a sweetness on Ra’s tongue that reminds him of the dates he so loved to eat as a child. A particular sort that went extinct two hundred years ago.

He lets his gaze roam over the still figure. Familiar hunger stoking a fire in his chest. And behind it, his ire burns green.

The soft black hair has grown long again. Strands rest against the nape of Richard’s neck and cover his thrilling blue eyes, lowered as his gaze still is. The green with gold accented loincloth he is wearing spills to the ground between his black-clad legs. His torso is wrapped with just as dark armor only broken through by golden lines. The strong arms are bare except for the scripture Ra’s inked into his skin the day Richard joined his inner circle, written in a language Ra’s never thought he would use again and infused with the waters of the pit. The loops and slopes shimmer golden-green.

New and old bruises dust along the exposed bronze skin. Richard’s favored twin blades have been left with Ubu in front of the doors, but the sprinkles of dried blood against the green cloth betray their usage.

“I heard you ran into the Terminator.”

Richard looks up, stunning blue exposed. Over the years, his eyes have been painted by his experiences. They shimmer a light near translucent blue, look like ice floes on the Cholamu lake. His body has been shaped by his stubborn survival just as much. While far from lanky, Richard is leaner than most assassins of the League. Especially the men.

“I thought it would be best to send Shrike away lest he kills himself trying to impress,” amusement swings in Richard’s voice, his eyes sparkle, and his lips crook.

Ra’s never thought that the half-frozen child would grow up to be so devastatingly beautiful.

A hum escapes him, gaze never leaving the sculpted face. He cares very little for Shrike’s survival. While a good assassin, his purpose ends right there.

“The Terminator has crossed your path a couple of times in the last months.”

“Coincidence, though he is a pesky opponent,” Richard responds with a chuckle but quiets when Ra’s grasps his chin, lightly tipping his head further back. A finger twitches in front of the tip of his shoe. He has never ground the fragile bones into dust, but Richard has seen him do so to Shrike and others on numerous occasions.

“As I seem to remember you enjoy pesky, Richard.”

There is no reply to his statement, and his thumb brushes over the lush lips. Warm slightly elevated breathing hits his skin, and he trails his finger over the heated cheek, finds a barely visible scar there he graces with attention.

He thought out of all of Richard’s distractions he could accept Slade Wilson when he first heard of the whispers. Striking a deal would be beneficial. The Terminator is a man he respects, a mercenary and assassin that has reached heights no one else unassociated with the League ever has. The Terminator is a man he can see himself in. And maybe that is the problem. Just as it was a problem when Richard read the Qur'an for The Tiger King of Kandahar.

Despite his ruthlessness, Richard shows his affections freely. Ra’s has found him locked in heated embraces more than once. Some vermin he let crawl away, some he did not.

His hand slips away from the warm skin as he turns to settle onto the sturdy chair. His gaze remains on the kneeling form. Richard does not lower his head again. The bewitching gaze stays on him. To have him crawl forward would be a pretty sight.

“I will have to step into the Lazarus pit very soon. Nyssa is planning something," he says, voice echoing with weight. A smile pulls on his lips, insistent. "I can feel it in those old bones.”

It's a whimsical thing to say. Words he would have never uttered with anyone else in the room. Sometimes he wonders when and why he started to take Richard’s humor as his own, and without fault, he gets his answer in the form of a tentative smile. 

“You will remain in Nanda Parbat for the next weeks. The new Ubu has shown himself to be untrustworthy.”

“I understand, Master. I will not stray from your side.”

“Good,” Ra’s allows the small praise as he leans back into his chair. “For tonight... help me alleviate my pain, Richard.”

The gentle smile resting on Richard’s lips makes him look deceptively soft, so soft Ra's barely refrains from clawing into him right there. “What do you wish me to do?”

“A massage would be appreciated.”

Richard dips his head lightly. “Of course. It’s an honor, Master.”

Ra’s hums quietly, watching Richard stand. The green-golden cloth caresses the long legs with his every step as Richard disappears out of sight to enter the lush baths. Ra’s does not follow, neither does he remain in his seating, simply pushes the doors to his bedroom open.

Incense is already burning, filling the room with a scent that lets him breathe through more freely. A bowl of water stands on the nightstand beside his pillowed bedding, different essential oils lined up next to it. 

He knocks three times against the servant’s entrance. With Richard present to serve, they will be allowed to enjoy a free evening.

Their togetherness ensured, he brushes his green robe off, smiling when it’s caught before it can hit the ground. Richard walks past him to place it over the armchair in the corner, then returns to help him out of his remaining attire, not hesitating once. The devotion alone lets his skin prickle, nearly makes Ra's twist his hand into the black locks to push the soft mouth against his skin while Richard kneels in front of him.

Free of the weight of his clothes, Ra’s lowers himself onto the soft cushions. After a long day, they feel otherworldly.

Exhaustion is a hassle. A hassle he does not feel often as much as he pretends to do, but his last time in the pit was interrupted by his precious younger daughter, not to mention that wounds make him age faster, and he was forced to deal with one of Richard’s superhuman distractions between now and then. The Midnighter had been positively maddening.

He lazily watches Richard lather his hands with the essential oils and turns onto his stomach with his eyes closed, and his arms crossed beneath his head. “You know what to do, Richard.”

"Of course, Master," Richard replies, amused and hands settle gently onto his skin. They are a blessing, warm and calloused and strong. The easy silence between them and his slowly heating skin is pleasurable in ways few things are. Every time Richard’s fingers trail across his skin it feels as if he is floating in the endless green of the Lazarus pit.

It is fitting in a way. The images he glimpses beneath the water have long since shifted from bats and decay to haunting blue eyes.

A sigh falls from his lips when the hands move down his thigh, then shift to his other one. By the time Richard asks him to turn, arousal is a faint thrum between his legs. 

Richard says nothing to his swelling shaft, doesn’t shy away from his duty as Ra’s trails his progress with half-lidded eyes. His arousal is nothing new. Even the maids with their skillful hands let his flesh stir, but Richard’s quiet concentration is what invokes his desire. The stillness he weaved into the child over years begs to be broken.

“Richard,” he says and the oiled hands still on his thigh. “Bare yourself.”

Richard stops altogether, and Ra’s waits him out. The child will do what he demands. Always and forever.

Richard’s lips part, eyebrow curling but then he lets it go, soft breath escaping him and eyes growing hooded.

The oil still glimmers on his hands as they loosen the ornamenting loincloth. It sinks to the ground, building green waves around Richard’s feet. His fingers brush up to work their way down. Ra’s can feel his hunger growing with every stripe of skin exposed and every tinkling of a clasp unfastened as piece after piece falls to the ground.

More bruises reveal themselves over Richard’s skin. Not all from fists or blunt stabs. Bitemarks layer the junction of his throat and shoulder, finger-shaped bruises paint his left hip. Ra’s' gaze does not linger on them. His scripture flows from Richard’s fingertips over his arms, crests like wings over his build chest and back, encircles his hardening nipples delicately. It marks the child far deeper than any of his distractions ever could. The remaining bruises he will cover later if not with his mouth and hands, then with a whip.

“I see you decided to lie with the Terminator.”

Richard’s jaw flexes, hands carefully relaxed at his sides. “I…”

It’s not often that the child trails off. “You?”

Richard swallows, still not looking at him, and he does not urge him on, lets his gaze trail down the bared skin instead. “Forgive me, Ra’s.”

Ra’s hums lowly. _Master_ makes him smile. His name pleases him. At the very least when they are alone.

His fingers curl around Richard’s to pull him closer until the child is half kneeling on his bed, both their hands resting interlaced on the inside of his thigh. If there is one thing about Richard not comparable to the cold and rough terrain surrounding Nanda Parbat, then it is the color of his skin. It glows like desert sand in the sun. His, in contrast, draws russet shadows in-between the dunes.

Richard’s gaze trails up and just a look, the faint parting of those sinful lips lets his erection twitch.

“Richard,” he prompts, and the child slips properly between his legs, arms snaking beneath his thighs.

Fingers caress over his ass and pull him close just as Richard dips down to engulf the tip of his cock with heat, tongue fluttering just beneath. Moaning, Ra’s slides his hand into the satin locks, hips rising to push all the way down the tight throat without further regard to the child’s enjoyment. Richard chokes quietly. A shudder descends. As always, Richard’s control is divine.

A grin rises to his lips when the muscles helplessly contract around his thickness. His grip tightens, and another moan spills over the second he begins his slow, meticulous thrusts down the narrow heat. He pulls out just far enough to encourage the child to use his skilled tongue, and then with every downward slide, he enjoys the way the strong fingers lightly dig into his ass. The silent desperation lights up his nerves.

His breathing picks up, the squelching grows louder, spit stirred and pushed back by his straining cock.

Ra’s lets the pleasant pull develop, leans back to sink into the cushions properly to drive his cock deeper, knowing well what Richard looks like even with his eyes closed. The wet heat, the perfect slide, the way his tensing balls slap against the plush lips. It all comes together nicely, has his need thicken into an urge to claim the child more and more and more. His hips twitch up. A near growl developing in his chest as he grows tense, cock pulsing. Pushing deep and pulling hard, he forces Richard to swallow his release. Another groan escapes him when the contractions around his cock continue almost frantic. Calming his breath, he lets his hand move from the child’s head, thumb brushing down his cheek, hand cupping his chin.

His fingers feel the wetness, the lips part, jaw opening, and his grip grows tight enough to bruise. Richard freezes, not daring to pull further back. The blanket shifts beneath him as hands burrow into the fabric. The pulse beneath his fingers thunders on.

A warm chuckle passes his lips. With his hand still on the sculpted jaw, he pushes up on his elbow to feast on the image Richard makes. It makes his flaccid cock slide deeper.

The nimble hands have curled around the fabric. The light blue eyes watch him, lashes as dark as coal. Richard's throat flutters around the length of his soft cock, tendrils of desire never leaving.

“Rest, Richard,” he says, words gentle but rough as he pulls on his chin until the soft lips press to his pelvis, all his length engulfed by the wet heat. Cut off warm breath hits his skin. Muscles jump. “Lie down with your Master.”

Hesitantly, tenser than he was while pleasing him, Richard beds his head on his thigh in response to his words. No sound of protest escapes the child, yet his gaze speaks volumes, filled to the prim with unshed tears. Ra’s smiles, caressing through the silken hair as he leans back more comfortably once again. No matter how well Richard hides his fear, Ra’s always knows where to find it.

The warm hands return to his skin, one slipping beneath his body once more so Richard can hold himself close, the other draws patterns into the sensitive skin of his left thigh. If not for the obvious bulge pressing out his throat and his slick lips stretched around his cock, Richard would almost look content and relaxed.

He is definitely trying to.

“What a sight you are," Ra's praises, fingers teasing the curve of his ear and down to the bulging throat. Eyelashes flutter. "Your control has always been exceptional. You learned so well beneath the most different teachers, and yet when it comes to your liaisons your admirable discipline ceases to exist entirely.”

Another burst of breath brushes against his skin, throat tightening around him, and Ra’s entangles his fingers into the locks, pulls until Richard's nose is pressed into his skin, another choking sound is forced out of the child's throat. Eyes squeeze shut.

"So much so that you seem to believe that I will not punish you for fornicating on a mission I entrusted you to fulfill."

Lips spasm, but Richard nuzzles into his skin, shifts between his legs, seeking forgiveness.

"Once I have bathed in the pit and we have taken care of Ubu and Nyssa," Ra's begins, gaze traveling to the crisscrossing mess of old and new scars decorating the child's slightly arching back. "You will accompany me to the US. Poison Ivy has made an interesting proposition, and I have not seen Timothy in far too long."

Richard’s eyes open, but his gaze does not focus. Ra's does not know whether Richard can still hear him or if the rushing of blood is already blocking his ears. And it does not matter. There is nothing Richard will do to prevent his actions. Not in this bed. Not in Gotham. Not anymore.

"I have heard my grandson has claimed Nighthawk as his own. Being disregarded by the Detective is sure to make him angry and reckless. He will be searching for someone who can appreciate his abilities."

Richard spasms, rapid blinks following. Lips harden and relax, every muscle working against the urge to let his mouth clamp shut. Not even a hint of teeth grazes his vulnerable flesh. Ra’s brushes through the soft dark locks, smiling.

"I am sure my grandson would enjoy seeing you again after all this time, and your presence will mellow the Detective. His soft spot for you has only increased over the years."

Fingers twist beside his hips, throat contracting rhythmically. Before the tear-drenched blue eyes can roll up, Ra’s draws him off, the slick slide out the narrow throat a relief he enjoys to the point of grinning.

The wheezing breath is cut short. His hand tightens around the bruised throat to dig his own fingertips into the bitemarks. He pulls him close. The wet lashes flutter shut even before their lips meet, and a pleased rumble escapes him when Richard kisses back uncoordinated and weak but responding to his demands. Pleased, he softens his grip, lets his hand run through the dark hair again, teeth biting into the abused lips until a whimper reaches his ears.

His unoccupied hand curls around the base of Richard’s half-hard cock, tugging the child properly into his lap.

The fast breath hitches as he drags his fingers along the swelling flesh, thumb teasing the crown until Richard moans and twitches into his touch. Pre-cum wets his thumb.

"One more distraction, Richard," he murmurs, never letting his gaze lower even as his fingers tease back to the thick base, sliding over the tight-drawing balls, "And I will have no other choice but to give you a knife."

"Mast--," Richard's teeth carve into his lips as he pushes his fingers into the widened entrance. There are barely any remands of lube left, and Ra's will not grand him any either. The Terminator has stretched him enough.

"Who do you belong to, child?"

Richard shudders, hands fluttering onto his shoulders. "You--You, Ra's," the wrecked voice tells him, bruising lips a wonderful sight. He brushes a tear away just as he scissors his fingers, and Richard groans, thighs opening wider, head tipping back even when it’s apparent he wants to scream.

He slowly pulls them out, gripping onto the flexing thigh to line himself up with that sweetly fluttering hole. A pained groan vibrates against the hand that has found its way back to the bruised and swelling throat as he forces himself into the tight and dry heat.

Richard shakes against him as he bottoms out, sweat slicking his skin.

“Forgive… Forgive me, … Master," Richard gasps, trying to garner his mercy with the words Ra’s taught him so long ago, only this time they brush against his neck instead of his knuckles, and Richard’s insides are being ripped open instead of his back.

“You are forgiven, child,” Ra’s promises with a kiss to the sweaty shoulder, fingers digging into the meat of the fine ass. Richard gasps in pain as he forces the narrow hips to move but his demands are followed. The lithe body arches into his hands, hips snap forward and back, displace the covers beneath them in their fast-paced rhythm. Pain contorts the beautiful face, tears finally falling, and a groan is panted against his skin when his kisses turn to bites across the bruised skin. Blood begins to ease his thrusts into the wound tight body. Their kiss feels suffocating even to him as he holds the child in place.

Ra's has forgiven him for every single one of his transgressions before. In the sum of things falling for a man like Slade Wilson is easier to rectify than others.

The thought makes him hold the trembling form close. Another low moan is drawn out of him as the burning skin contracts around him. Relief floods him as he comes for a second time, the strength of his motions slowly ceasing.

His half-lidded gaze stays on the pattern of gruesome scars as he relaxes back into the cushions beneath the child. He caresses over the faintly glowing scripture, chasing the shivers away.

With another kiss to Richard’s temple, he rolls them onto their sides.

Eyes close and lips part without a sound when his softening cock escapes the bleeding passage. He watches the mixture of frothing cum and blood trickle past the spasming muscle, faintly caressing Richard's side.

There is no response to his care except for the fine tremors rushing over the slick and heated skin. Goosebumps raised all over.

“Well done, Richard,” he praises, slinging an arm around the strong thigh to push it up and drape it over his hip before pulling the covers over them both. Richard blinks his eyes open, face carefully blank despite his clear exhaustion and the trickle of fear. Ra's finds the scar beneath his eye again, thumb brushing over the raised skin.

"I will taint the satin," Richard breaths, voice rough and disoriented gaze almost going past him. Ra's sighs, tugging him closer. His hand cradles the nape of his neck, Richard’s face pressing to his collarbone. The soft hair tickles his throat.

"Hardly what I would call a sacrifice, my sweet child," Ra's murmurs into his hair. The smell of incense and the perfumes he uses entrench the dark locks. The blank slate of an assassin wiped away and the Terminator, too. “You will stay here tonight.”

A shiver follows his words, but Richard still whispers his agreement, Master falling from his lips in easy acceptance. Ra’s hums, fingertips trailing over the golden-green scripture as he listens to the calming breathing, pleased when Richard curls up against him in sleep.

Drawing back, to reveal the sleep softened face, he brushes the tear streaks away.

His ire has ceased.

He might have lost the One Who Is All to the Detective, but even if Nyssa succeeds, even if anyone succeeds in killing him, his soul will remain within this plane of existence, will cling to Richard upon his death. And while his second daughter would not hesitate to try and kill the child if she knew of the scripture’s true abilities, there are too many people that would step in the line of fire to see him live.


End file.
